


A Study in Boredom

by favabean05, frek



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favabean05/pseuds/favabean05, https://archiveofourown.org/users/frek/pseuds/frek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After solving a case, Sherlock is terribly bored. He soon discovers that John is able to provide fantastic entertainment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Boredom

**Author's Note:**

> This is a paragraph RP edited into fic. Frek wrote Sherlock. Favabean05 wrote John.
> 
> This was inspired by [this piece of amazing artwork](http://doublenegativemeansyes.tumblr.com/post/14040837153) by [Doublenegativemeansyes](http://doublenegativemeansyes.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. [Doublenegativemeansyes](http://doublenegativemeansyes.tumblr.com) also drew [this](http://doublenegativemeansyes.tumblr.com/post/25158116407/here-http-archiveofourown-org-works-432122-it) in return for this fic. <333 Thank you, bb.

The only sounds in the flat were John’s loud typing and Sherlock’s occasional groans of annoyance. They had just finished a case not thirty-six hours ago (a very interesting one. Serial killer, mysterious injected poison, climactic apprehension of the culprit) and now the both of them had settled into their normal post-case routine. John would type up a blog entry.

Sherlock would sulk.

Sherlock was tearing through the kitchen, opening and closing the cabinets and fridge. Loudly. "John!" He shouted, his dressing gown billowing behind him as he left the kitchen to pace across the living room. "JOHN."

Sherlock picked up a book, glancing at the cover for a moment before realizing it was some fiction novel. He sighed and threw it across the room, listening for the sound of it hitting a wall. It made an unsatisfying thump. Of course.

He turned back to John, storming over to the table where John was intent on a blog entry. "John, I'm talking to you!"

“And I’m ignoring you, Sherlock,” John replied, his voice in a steady deadpan. “I’m finishing up writing this case. Go watch telly or something.”

"I've seen it all," Sherlock whined. "That man is sleeping with his wife's sister. That girl is having a baby at fifteen. There's a war going on. And another country has a nuclear arsenal," Sherlock rattled off the various programs that were on when he had flipped through the stations earlier. "Boring. Boring. Tedious, and Boring."

“Read a bloody book, stare out the window for all I care,” John replied, still typing. “I’m almost done. Go do an experiment or something, there’s plenty strewn about the kitchen.”

Sherlock sighed heavily, practically stomping across the flat back into the kitchen. He started sifting through the piles of aging experiments on the counters, finding nothing to interest him. He pulled a rotting nose from a tray and tossed it into the rubbish bin before storming out of the kitchen, past John and to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

John barely flinched when the door slammed and he gave a long, slow sigh. Sherlock, as much as John loved him, was sometimes too insufferable to deal with. In moments like this, John would play patient with him, which seemed to just irritate him more. John smirked at the thought. He liked poking Sherlock. It was entertaining. 

He could hear rummaging going on from behind the door and John groaned softly at the thought of what unholy mess would await him when he walked into it that night. 

Several minutes later, Sherlock threw the bedroom door open and shouted out into the hallway, his voice urgent. "JOHN!"

“Oh, for the love of--” John groaned, half slamming his fist down onto the table. He turned back toward the hall and shouted back. “WHAT?”

"I need your help!" Sherlock called back, refusing to leave the room. He glanced back behind him, the bed cleared of anything unnecessary, several lengths of soft red rope waiting.

John rolled his eyes, sighing hard and resigning himself to the fact that Sherlock wouldn’t fucking leave him alone for the foreseeable future. “All right, all right!” John called, saving his entry and shutting down his computer. “I’m coming, bloody hell...”

John pushed himself away from the table and walked down the hallway. He spotted Sherlock just inside the doorway to his room and John held his hands out questioningly. “What do you need?”

Sherlock waved John in, tired of his constant questions. Why couldn't he just listen to him? "Come here. I need you for an experiment."

 _Oh God_. Whenever John was the subject of an experiment, it almost always ended poorly. He’d just gotten his eyebrows back. John walked into the room and Sherlock closed the door behind him. He looked about the room, eyes falling on the red rope coiled at the foot of the bed. John felt the tiniest flutter in his belly and he slowly looked over to Sherlock.

“What are you testing, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock's smile was almost predatory. He pushed John backward until he fell onto the bed. Sherlock followed him, straddling his legs, pressing his mouth to John's ear. "I'm going to be testing to see just how much sexual stimuli you can handle before you become completely undone."

John gasped, a jolt shooting through his belly down to his groin. A low moan bubbled from the back of his throat, his hips shifting up against Sherlock’s. “Oh, God...” he whispered.

Sherlock hummed appreciatively at John's reaction. This was going to be too easy. He reached down and grabbed one of the red ropes, guiding John to the top of the bed. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" He asked, taking John's wrists in his hand.

John let out a soft whimper as his hands were lifted above him, and he worked to get himself in check. He was going to make Sherlock work for the results of this experiment. 

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” John replied, smirking softly up at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned, "Perhaps. Or maybe I can keep you in suspense." He felt John's growing erection start to press against him, "I think you might like that."

Sherlock kissed John, his tongue sliding between his lips, stroking along John's. He pulled back and started to tie John's wrists together, looping the rope around part of their headboard.

John leaned up as much as he could as he kissed Sherlock back, his tongue sliding against Sherlock’s in the most delicious way. John felt a flutter in his belly as the rope cinched tight at his wrists. He playfully pulled at his bindings but whimpered softly when they didn’t give, a thrill running through him. 

“Sherlock,” John whispered softly.

Sherlock trailed kisses over John's jaw, lips pressing to his ear. He ran his tongue along the shell of his ear, following the inner curve before murmuring, "Mmm... yes?" 

“You are a bad man,” John laughed softly, hitching into a soft moan. “A very, very bad man.”

John pressed his body up, wanting to feel Sherlock’s against his. Wanting to feel some sort of pressure, friction. His pants were achingly tight.

Sherlock grinned, "I'm assuming that's a good thing." He ground his hips down against John's, the friction sending a shock of pleasure through his body. He moved down along John's body, hands tracing down his sides, fingers moving along the waist of his trousers, before starting to work on the button and zip.

“Very good,” John sighed, biting his lip from the anticipation. He raised his hips up unconsciously as Sherlock’s nimble fingers worked, slowly lowering the zipper. His hips rocked up again, as if they were trying to catch Sherlock’s hand in the opened flaps of his trousers, wanting that warm pressure where John needed it most.

Sherlock pressed John's hips down when he tried to rock against him, tutting. "That's not how this experiment works." 

He worked John's trousers off his legs, tossing them to the floor, followed quickly by his socks. Sherlock slid his hands along John's bare legs, over his pants, brushing his palms lightly over his clothed erection, before gripping the waist of his pants and sliding them off his legs, leaving him naked from the waist down.

John groaned when his hips were forced down, both in frustration and arousal. He was unable to hold back a gasp as Sherlock’s large hand brushed over his erection, and he whimpered as the cool air hit it as his pants left him. John felt exposed, vulnerable, and he _loved_ it. He looked up to see Sherlock observing him, looking him up and down. John put on his best set of bedroom eyes and slowly rolled his hips up, thrusting up into the air. 

Sherlock licked his lips at the sight of John's cock jutting out from his hips, like it was begging for him to touch, to lick, to suck. He followed his gaze up John's body, meeting his eyes, the heat in John's gaze going right to his groin. He swallowed down the arousal, his breathing shallow. _Later_. He had other matters to attend to.

Sherlock grabbed the other lengths of rope, the first one, he tied to one of John's ankles and lashed it to the bottom post of the bed, leaving it loose enough that he could move a little. The second, he tied to John's other ankle and loosely ran it to the other post. John's legs were forced apart, but he could still bend at the knees, still move and arch, and thrust, which was important.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, another stab of arousal hitting him as his legs were tied. He was almost trembling, his heart pounding. He hadn’t been this turned on in a while and damn it, Sherlock was being insufferable again. If he would just _touch_ him...

Sherlock lips quirked up into a knowing smirk. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing to John and he was loving every minute of it. He kneeled on the bed, between John's knees, his eyes taking in the sight of John nearly naked before him, the only article of clothing, a t-shirt, riding up over his stomach. _Like a work of art._

Sherlock reached down with his fingertips, he ran them lightly over John's skin. Over the tops of his feet, along his shins, over his knees. He ghosted his touch over John's thighs, watching the goosebumps rise on his skin in response. As he reached John's obvious erection, he skirted his touch around him, over his hips, and up over his stomach, before working his way back down.

“Fuck,” John groaned as his muscles tensed and jumped under Sherlock’s tortuous touch. Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing and John both hated and loved him for it. His head fell back against the mattress, flexing the stretched muscles at his shoulders that only made him tremble more. 

Fingers glanced and dodged, swept and weaved, teasing every inch of exposed skin except that which was hard and _insistent_. John’s brain was starting to melt. 

Sherlock laughed breathily, enjoying John's response to his touch. He continued his assault on John's body, leaning down over him, his tongue taking over where his fingers left off. He pushed the shirt farther up John's torso, baring his chest to him. He leaned down and circled his tongue over John's left nipple, feeling it stiffen beneath his tongue. He smiled at John as he moved to the other nipple, doing the same. 

John cried out weakly, feeling his erection twitch as warm heat reached his nipples. He arched up against Sherlock’s mouth, his legs moving and testing their bonds as his hips rocked up, desperate for any sort of friction. The head of his cock just barely brushed along his abdomen as he thrusted up, which did much more harm than good.

“God,” John groaned. “Fuck, damn it, Sherlock...”

"Interesting response," Sherlock noted, a smirk playing on his lips. 

Sherlock leaned farther up, pressing his body along John's this time, his mouth finding John's. He kissed him slowly, pulling John's lip into his mouth, teeth grazing over the soft skin, before soothing the nip with his tongue. He smiled again, pulling away from John, trailing his tongue, his lips down John's body as he did, stopping to press his tongue into John's navel before straightening up.

John moaned outright when Sherlock’s body pressed to his and he quickly rocked his hips up, whimpering at the sweet friction he was finally able to receive. He kissed Sherlock back, his body tingling at the attention paid to his lip. He tried to move his arm to thread his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, but he was held back by his bonds. John moaned again. 

For all the attention _not_ paid to his erection, John felt a familiar coil beginning to tighten in his lower belly. He whimpered sharply as Sherlock’s tongue laved his navel, and the coil tightened even more. 

“God, how do you do that?” John breathed, his eyes slipping closed. 

"Observation," came the simple reply. Sherlock took in John before him, the way his face was clouded with absolute _need_ , the way his body arched toward him, practically begging him for his touch. His skin flushed and hot. Sherlock loved it, the sight made his body buzz with arousal, wanting more. He took a shaky breath, though, calming himself before continuing his experiment.

Sherlock leaned down once more and pressed a light kiss to John's hip, moving down over his thigh. He pressed a kiss to the inside of John's thighs, tongue flicking out to taste the skin. He leaned his head against John's thigh a moment, breath ghosting over his erection. He watched John's muscles tense and tighten under his touches, his cock straining. He was close. Very close.

“Oh god,” John whimpered sharply. He’d never been so close to climax by just teasing and glancing touches in his life, he could just _taste_ oblivion. He rolled his hips down, unconsciously trying to angle his erection toward Sherlock. John knew it wouldn’t be long. If Sherlock just put a hand, his mouth, hell, just his _tongue_ on his cock, John would be riding his euphoria faster than what could be imagined. 

“Sherlock,” John began to beg softly. “Please, I’m...c-close...”

Sherlock couldn't stop the grin from spreading on his face. He moved to his knees, resting on his feet, his eyes fixed on the desperation in John's face. "Not yet," he said, climbing from the bed, his fingers brushing here and there over John's legs as he stood up. 

“No, no, no,” John whimpered, groaning at the denial. Sherlock hadn’t ever denied John an orgasm before, and John thought in that moment he would simply combust. Or implode. Both were viable options at that point.

John’s toes curled and he fisted the ropes tight in his hand as he worked to control himself, to keep himself from coming. After several long seconds, the tight tension in his body eased up a bit. He was floating away from his crest, no longer as achingly close as he had been less than a minute to go. 

Sherlock stepped across the room, pulling a chair near the bed and taking a seat. From this angle he could clearly see John's body, his muscles relaxing from the peak that they had been so close to, the desperate need on John's face.

"What do you want me to do to you, John?" Sherlock asked, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread. He could feel his own cock ache and twitch, wanting to be touched.

"God," John groaned, breathing hard. He was on fire, tugging against his bonds. "Sherlock, I...touch me. Suck me. Anything."

Sherlock couldn't hide the smile in his voice, as he replied, his eyes fixed on the exquisite expression on John's face, his eyes wide, his mouth open and pleading.

"You want me to touch you? To run my fingers along your cock?" Sherlock grinned, starting tame. "Do you want me to brush my thumb over your frenulum, run my fingers over the glans? Cup your scrotum with my other hand?"

John’s eyes fluttered closed and he could suddenly feel as if Sherlock were touching him, doing exactly what he was saying. Sherlock’s voice dripped over him, and John craved it, letting it wash over him again. He sighed deep and hard, still squirming a bit. 

“Yes...”

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Sherlock asked, steepling his fingers, thinking. Imagining. "You want me to lean over you, my body pressing to yours, my cock against yours. You want me to kiss you, my tongue in your mouth. You want my mouth elsewhere, too. Don't you?"

John imagined Sherlock’s warm weight pressed against his, his wet tongue sliding against John’s, tracing patterns across his skin. It sent a jolt through his belly and he whimpered softly, nodding. 

“God, yeah,” John whispered. “Lower...”

Sherlock nodded, biting down on his thumb, his own imagination starting to get the better of him. "You want me to run my tongue down your neck, suck on your adam's apple, let my teeth scrape over your collarbone."

Sherlock leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as he watched John's cock twitch and grow harder once more. This was better than he had imagined. "You want me to go lower, my tongue laving at your nipples, making them hard. Even lower still, over your stomach, until my mouth is just over your cock, hot breath over your hard flesh, so close you can almost feel it."

John’s mind supplied Sherlock slowly sliding down his body, his dark blue eyes locked with John’s. He felt every touch of Sherlock’s tongue to his skin. Every waft of hot breath that drove him crazy. John grew harder and he moaned as he rocked his hips up, wanting to be in Sherlock’s mouth. Wanting to feel the warm, wet heat enveloping him. Swallowing him. Pulling him higher and higher until...

“Sherlock,” John whimpered, his hips still rocking. 

"You're close again, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, his breath catching at the sight of John straining against his restraints, his body moving toward the imaginary touch.

"You want my lips brushing over the insides of your thighs, moving closer to your aching cock. You want me to lick and suck your scrotum, don't you?"

“Yes!” John cried out, fisting the ties. He had never been pushed to the brink of climax from mere words and visuals, but he could almost taste the sharp pleasure he was so close to feeling. This was nothing he’d ever experienced. “Please, Sherlock...please, I’m going crazy...”

"Are you?" Sherlock asked, standing up from the chair, stepping beside the bed. He stopped by John's head, looking down into John's face, waiting for him to open his eyes, to look at him.

John knew Sherlock was above him and he had to fight to open his eyes. They fluttered open and he let out a soft moan as he met Sherlock’s eyes, dark, almost black. It was the sexiest thing John had ever seen.

“Y-Yes,” he whispered, nodding quickly. “Yes...”

"Good," Sherlock said softly. His gaze travelled over the length of John's body, his flushed skin, taught muscles. His cock, jutting out, still begging to be touched. His hands were straining at his ropes. Sherlock knew he wanted to touch himself, wanted the relief.

"It's not time yet," Sherlock finally said, his eyes resting on John's face once more.

John’s face fell, torn between twisted anguish and burning arousal. He was trembling, aching, so high on pleasure he could barely see straight. He let out a long whine, dropping his head back to the mattress. 

“ _Why?_ ” He whimpered, trying to calm himself down. To pull away from the edge he was hanging from. “You’re evil. Pure, concentrated, filthy, gorgeous evil. _Fuck_.”

Sherlock couldn't hide the grin at John's comments. "Remember, I'm conducting an experiment."

He continued to stand beside the bed, eyes focused on John, assessing. He was waiting for John's body to relax again, needed him to step back from the precipice. He saw John's breathing start to steady, his muscles beginning to relax. Not much longer and he could continue.

John breathed long and slow through his nose, bringing his heart rate back under control. His muscles slowly unclenched, his tug on his bindings relaxing. The fire in his belly ebbed to a dull burn and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, nodding slowly. 

“O-Okay,” he said, his throat dry. “I’m okay...”

Sherlock nodded. "Good."

He bent over John, careful not to make any other contact, and pressed a slow, languid kiss to John's mouth, before straightening up. "Now, where were we?"

John sighed into the kiss, huffing softly as Sherlock pulled away. He laughed at Sherlock’s question, tipping his head back against the mattress. 

“I have no idea, this is your show Sherlock,” John laughed, looking up up at him with a heated smile.

"Of course," Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's body once more, his softening penis. "My mouth on your scrotum. Do you want my mouth on your cock, John? Do you want to feel my tongue flat against the underside, hot and wet?"

John nodded, gulping. “Yes,” he replied softly, sighing hard. “Yes, I really would.”

"You want my tongue pressing against your frenulum, swirling around your glans." Sherlock stated, walking around to the bottom of the bed. "I bet you want me to take your cock in my mouth, don't you?"

John whimpered and nodded again. “ _Yes_ ,” John nearly growled, feeling the flutter in his belly. “Your mouth is perfect, Sherlock.” He began to squirm on the bed again, hips shifting up.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked, his lips curled into a small smile. "You want me to wrap my lips around your cock, take the length into my mouth, until I can't take anymore. Suck on you, tongue and lips working you over."

John’s voice failed him as his brain clouded over. His heart was pounding, his wrist burning from the rope, his erection dark and positively _aching_ for contact. He thrust his hips up, desperate for any sort of friction, and he moaned low. 

"You want me to go down on you again. You want me cupping your scrotum as I pull off," Sherlock said, knowing he was pushing John almost to the breaking point. He could hear it in every delicious sound he made, every thrust of his hips. It was mesmerizing, watching John. 

"You're close. Very close. Aren't you?" Sherlock himself was aching, needing to be touched almost as badly. If it weren't that he was doing this for John, he'd have already touched himself. 

"Yes," John breathed harshly, fairly sure that if Sherlock just touched the tip of his nose he'd climax. The coil in his belly was taut, on a hair trigger. He was so desperate for release he almost couldn't breathe. 

"I need your mouth on me," John began to babble, his voice rough. "I need your hand on my dick, my balls. Anywhere, everywhere, on me, in me - oh _god_ , in me - I just need you Sherlock."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "In you?" He asked, thinking about what he would do next, tongues and fingers penetrating, curling, bringing out more of those amazing sounds John made . Maybe John wasn't _quite_ ready yet.

John took several deep breaths, trying to control himself. As badly as he wanted to come right now, he didn’t want to without Sherlock touching him. How could Sherlock do that to him with just his voice? This was the best experiment Sherlock had ever done.

“In me,” John confirmed, his voice calm, his heartbeat slower. He was away from the edge, he wasn’t about to fall. “You heard me.” He threw a playful smirk up at Sherlock, huffing a small laugh. 

"In that case," Sherlock began, circling the bed and settling once more into the chair, his eyes never leaving John's face, his body. He watched for John to relax again, hearing the laughter in his voice was just the signal he needed to know he could begin again.

"You want me to roll you over, bent over in front of me," Sherlock began, his voice low, rough, and promising of all the things he spoke of. "You want my mouth on your arse, kissing down the cleft, until my tongue presses against your opening. You want me to lick and suck you, until you're moaning, whimpering. You want me to press my tongue inside you, fucking you with it..." His voice trailed off as he shifted in his chair, adjusting his pants, his erection. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, John?"

John moaned low, imagining everything. The press of Sherlock's fingers, the wet heat of his tongue teasing him, breaching him, over and over. John grunted softly, fisting the ropes above his head to stay in control. The muscles were burning. John nodded quickly, breathing hard and fast through his nose. 

Sherlock licked his lips, John's moan rolling right through him. He paused, waiting, listening to his labored breathing. He let John's body calm, his muscles loosen, before continuing, once more standing up and walking around the bed.

"You want me to replace my tongue with a slick finger, pushing inside you, past the tight muscle. You want me to penetrate you with my fingers, adding another." Sherlock took a breath, he was standing by the bottom of the bed, eyes fixed on John's face, watching the way his features contorted with need and pleasure. _For him_. "You want me to stroke just right, so that I hit your prostate. You want to come undone under my touch, don't you?"

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John breathed, his face flushed dark red. “Yes...”

His eyes slid up Sherlock’s body, looking up to his face. John stared heatedly up at him, reaching his foot out as far as his bonds will take it, sliding it up the side of Sherlock’s leg. “You have no _idea_ how much I want that...”

Sherlock's gaze lowered down to John's foot where it was brushing his leg before he returned it back to John's face. "I think I have some idea," he said, moving to crawl back into the bed. He paused when he was kneeling between John's knees, enjoying the view. John's head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. His hands were fisted above him, straining at the restraints. The muscles of his chest and abdomen were tight, his whole body practically rigid. He was very close, Sherlock understood. 

Sherlock spoke again, his eyes falling on John's erection, thoughts of what he would do next running rampant. "You want me to replace my fingers with my slick cock. You want to feel me inside you, filling you, stretching you. You want me to fuck you while I stroke your cock. Is that right?"

All John could do was whimper. His words were gone, his mind blissfully clouded over. He gulped down air, panting deep, and his legs spread on their own accord at Sherlock’s words. John’s body was on sexual autopilot, reacting to everything he was being told, wanting it, needing it. He grunted as his body shifting, tugging against the restraints more, and he opened his eyes to Sherlock’s, pouring out every word his mouth couldn’t form.

Sherlock's lips curved into a smirk as he watched John's reaction. He knew that John was ready, that he wouldn't be able to last through another barrage of words. He leaned down over John's body, looking into his face. 

"You want me to let you have your release, don't you?" Sherlock asked as he reached down, long fingers wrapping around John's hot length, moving over the silky skin. His other hand cupped his scrotum, massaging delicately.

Sherlock leaned farther over John, his mouth hovering over one of his nipples. "Come for me, John," he whispered roughly before capturing the hard nub in his mouth.

A bomb went off in John's brain. His body seized, hips bucking off the bed, legs bent, back arched. John's jaw dropped and his eyes slammed shut, letting out the scream that had been building for what seemed an eternity. Everything was white and hot and he cried out with each wave of his release, feeling as if it would never end. 

John collapsed to the bed, chest heaving, completely limp. Sweat dripped from his temple and he whimpered, trembling with aftershocks pulled from Sherlock's gentle coaxing touch still on his sensitive cock. 

"Oh...oh god..." John could barely whisper, his head tipped back against the mattress. 

Sherlock smiled, pressing gentle kisses to John's chest as he guided John through his release. He could feel John's body tense, his climax lasting much longer than it would under normal circumstances. Sherlock made note of that for future reference as he felt John's body relax beneath him, his whole frame trembling with the strength of his release. He had semen all over his stomach, Sherlock's hand, and he was certain there may have been some on his shirt. But he didn't care.

Sherlock moved from between John's knees, bending over his ankles and untying the restraints there. He followed the line of his legs, pressing featherlight kisses up them, over his hip, his stomach, chest. Until finally his mouth found John's. This kiss was different from the ones they shared before, no longer with the urgency and need that had filled John's body before. Instead, John's lips and tongue moved against Sherlock's carefully, languidly. Sherlock followed his lead, ignoring the fire that was still lit in his own belly.

John sighed hard into the kiss, wrapping his newly freed legs around Sherlock’s hips and thighs. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he swore, smiling softly up at Sherlock. “That was bloody incredible.” 

He leaned up to kiss Sherlock again, feeling him press his hips down against his own. He felt Sherlock’s erection press hot and hard against him, and John moaned very softly. “God, you must be in pain by now,” he whispered then chuckled shyly. “While you’re...down there. You can...you know. Take me.”

Sherlock couldn't stop the moan that escaped his lips, low and urgent. Up until that moment, he had been focused entirely on John and his experience and had chosen not to let his own arousal effect what he was doing. Now that John had pointed it out and offered himself, Sherlock couldn't ignore what was so obviously pressing against John's body.

Sherlock's hips rocked against John's body, the friction and feel, even through his clothes, almost too much for him. He pulled back from John, putting some distance between their bodies, his breathing coming out in quick pants. He looked up into John's face, their eyes meeting. John's gaze was practically feral, it went straight to his groin.

Sherlock leaned forward, stretching out to the night table drawer and pulled a tube. He situated himself back between John's knees and glanced back up, seeing the red rope still tied around John's wrists. A moment of indecision hit him. Did he want to watch John wiggle and strain against those ropes while he pressed into him? Or did he want to feel John's hands on his body? Both sounded undeniably pleasing.

John knew where Sherlock's gaze was trained and he twisted in his bonds. A jolt went through his belly, softer this time, and John sighed at the feel. 

"Whichever way you want, Sherlock. Tied up or no. This is your turn," he said, his voice low, knowing what it did to Sherlock. 

Sherlock swallowed thickly, closing his eyes, John's voice went right through him and he knew it. He looked back up at John, coming to a decision. He wanted more. Sherlock reached up and quickly undid the binds on John's wrists, freeing him. 

"I want your hands," Sherlock whispered, leaning down against John once more, pressing his body to John's. He captured John's mouth with his own, leading him in a deep, hungry kiss.

John moaned softly as his hands were released, shaking them a little to restore blood flow before wrapping them around Sherlock. He kissed back, burying his fingers in Sherlock's hair, loving the feel of Sherlock's clothed body pressed against his naked one. 

John moved to unbuckle Sherlock's trousers, cupping him roughly through the fabric. He smirked up at Sherlock before capturing his mouth again, almost devouring him. 

Sherlock let out a sharp gasp at the feel of John's hands on his erection, the touch sending a wave of pleasure through his body. He returned John's kiss just as hungrily. Hot, wet, and intense. As John his trousers opened, Sherlock shoved them roughly down his thighs, followed quickly by his pants. He leaned close again, rocking his hips against John's, feeling his naked cock against John's skin. 

"Fuck, John," he gasped, breathless. He ached with how badly he wanted this.

John sighed, removing Sherlock's shirt before pulling him down to kiss him deep and slow. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, reaching blindly for the tube on the mattress 

"Sherlock," John gasped, "Please, Sherlock. Take me.."

Sherlock groaned, taking the tube from John and returning to his knees. He quickly coated his fingers, watching John adjust himself, legs spread wide. The look in John's eyes, absolute need, hit him hard. Sherlock slid his fingers along the cleft of John's arse, pressing gently against his entrance before sliding one finger in. 

He could feel the resistance at first, hot and tight against his finger, John's body tense under his hand. Within moments, though, that changed and John relaxed under his touch, his finger stroking, penetrating easily inside him, brushing against his prostate. Sherlock grinned when John's body responded, his erection returning.

John groaned as he was breached, his breath hitching in his chest. His head fell back to the mattress as he felt his erection hardening again, a feat he never would have imagined after the orgasm he'd had previously. John took himself in his hand, stroking slowly as he felt Sherlock moving within him. 

"Sherlock," he whispered, a small smile on his lips.

Sherlock's eyes dropped to John's body, his hand stroking his own cock. Sherlock felt his breath hitch in his chest, another wave settling in his gut, tightening that coil. When he finally looked back to John's face, their eyes met and John's lips quirked into a smile. The sounds that escaped Sherlock's lips, he would never admit to, but he couldn't stop them from coming.

Sherlock pulled out his finger completely before pressing two against John's opening, sliding them in slowly, drawing out the feeling for John. Again he was overwhelmed with the absolute heat and pressure surrounding his fingers as he moved them inside John. His mind brought forth images and sensations, replacing his fingers with his cock, and once again it was almost too much.

John stroked himself a little faster, his breathing deeper. Sherlock's fingers pressed against his prostate and John gasped, a jolt going straight up his spine. 

"Shit," John whimpered, pressing against Sherlock's hand. "I'm...oh shit...I'm ready Sherlock. Please."

Sherlock nodded, removing his fingers. "Christ, John..." he swore, quickly pouring more lube into his palm.

He wrapped his hand around his length, stroking it, coating it, before doing the same for John. He watched as John's hips arched into the touch, his dick already impossibly hard again.

Sherlock removed his hand from John, hands reaching down and gripping his hips as he angled them up. He loved the feel of John beneath him, breathing labored, anticipating his next move. Their eyes met and Sherlock smirked, "do you want me to fuck you, John?" 

John moaned and leaned up swiftly, kissing Sherlock deep and hard, cupping the back of his head. He bit Sherlock's bottom lip before pulling back. 

"Yes, Sherlock," John replied, his voice rough. "Fuck me, please." He fell back onto the bed, looking up to Sherlock, his eyes dark. 

A sharp intake of breath at the sound of John's voice asking so directly, his eyes dark with need. Sherlock adjusted John's hips once more, fingers digging into soft flesh as he guided his cock to his slick opening. He pressed gently against John at first, pushing in achingly slow at first.

As John's tight arse surrounded him, Sherlock gasped out, the heat and friction flooding his body with pleasure. "Christ, John," his voice was strained. "You feel so good."

"Yes," John gasped as Sherlock entered him, reaching out to dig his fingers into the flesh at Sherlock's shoulders. "God, so do you, Sherlock."

John groaned as Sherlock settled against him, feeling stretched and full. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist tight, digging his heels into Sherlock's arse and playfully clenching his muscles around him. 

"Oh, god," he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. If John kept using his muscles like that, this would be over before he knew it. Sherlock took a deep breath, willing his body to relax before opening his eyes again.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, searching John's face for reassurance. He caught John's eyes, a small nod okay.

Sherlock took one more breath and then slowly began to draw himself out, before sliding back in again, angling himself this time to elicit that response from John he craved.

John whimpered at the slick friction, how perfect Sherlock felt within him. John felt the angle change and he cried out softly as Sherlock pressed right against his prostate. A jolt went through his spine and he held Sherlock tighter, rocking his hips up in his rhythm. 

"Mmm," John moaned low, kissing at Sherlock's shoulders and throat. 

Sherlock easily found a rhythm between his hips rocking and John's body arching into him. His body was filled with an electric rush that he couldn't ignore, his every nerve on fire as he felt John's arse tighten and move over his cock. 

He reached with one hand, slick fingers grasping and stroking John's erection in time with his hips pressing into him. Sherlock's voice filled the room, a series of mumbled words and syllables. Nonsense and praise. "Oh god... Nnn... John..."

"Sherlock...Sherlock..." John muttered over and over, his nerves on fire. He clenched his muscles once more as Sherlock pressed in, and John moaned low. 

"Sher--...oh god... Harder. Please..."

Sherlock groaned, seeing stars as John's body clenched around him. "God.. yes," he whispered, moving faster inside John, harder, his head swimming, body singing.

He stroked John, watching John's mouth open, head tilting back. His other hand gripped John's hip as he felt himself getting close. The pleasure building up, coiling low in his gut, his entire body filled with that delicious tension as his hips crashed against John.

John cried out, his second orgasm rushing up faster than he was anticipating. He could feel Sherlock grip his hip so tight he knew bruises would form in the morning. He heard Sherlock’s pants come faster, more shallow. Sherlock was close. 

“Yes, Sherlock,” John moaned, gulping down air. “So good...you... _fuck_...c-come on...please...”

Sherlock bit into his lip as his movements became more erratic, his world narrowing to nothing more than the feeling filling his body, the contact between he and John. "John... Oh my... fuck," he gasped out as he felt himself reach that peak, his entire body full of tension and electricity. 

He pressed into John one last time, his thumb working the underside of John's cock, stroking over the sensitive head. He arched into John, trying to bury his cock as deep inside John as he could, wanting to feel every bit of him around his cock as he could. His fingers dug into John's hip as he came, his eyes sliding closed, bright lights behind his lids. "Christ... My god, John..."

“Sherlock!” John cried out, his back arching off the bed as the coil tightened in his belly. He groaned as he felt Sherlock pulse and release in him, and he squeezed his muscles one last time to help coax as much pleasure from Sherlock as possible. 

John was teetering on the edge, so close to oblivion he could hardly stand it. He was still full, Sherlock’s thumb was pressing at just the right place, and John was trembling. He felt Sherlock twist his wrist on John’s cock as fingers pressed hard into his hip, and John snapped. He moaned hard as his orgasm hit, whimpering and gasping Sherlock’s name over and over with each wave. 

“Oh my god,” John sighed, slumping back on the mattress, completely limp and spent. “Sherlock... _Fuck_...”

Sherlock relaxed against John, feeling himself slip out, but not caring. He rolled onto his side, wrapping his limbs around John, pressing his face into his shoulder. He kissed John's shoulder before looking up at John, a hand reaching up and pulling him close, kissing him long and deep, tongue moving languidly over John's, no longer eliciting the same thrill it did earlier, now only giving a sense of a completion to their act.

When he pulled away, he took a deep, shuddering breath, dropping his hand to John's stomach, fingers trailing through the sticky semen there. "That was extraordinary, John," he said, his voice quiet.

“Yes...yes, it was,” John whispered, breathless. “Oh my _god_...”

John huffed a small laugh, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again and smiling as he felt Sherlock’s fingers at his stomach. His brain was sufficiently turned to mush, his limbs were limp, and John felt it very likely that he would melt into the bed.

“What results came from your experiment?” John asked, laughing softly.

Sherlocked hummed against John's throat, lips pressed to his pulse point. His tongue darted out against John's skin, before he followed it with a soft kiss. "I'm fairly certain the results are spread across your abdomen right now," he murmured.

John let out a ridiculous giggle, pulling Sherlock close and burying his face in his dampened curls. “And your hand,” John added, still laughing. “And your shirt. Sorry, love.”

John sighed contentedly as he felt Sherlock’s lips continue to brush along his skin, cataloging the taste and feel. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as they both eased back into reality, the afterglow very slowly starting to fade. 

“Now assuming I’ll be able to _move_ ,” John said, staring up at the ceiling, “how about we get a takeaway and find you another case to solve?” He looked down at Sherlock who was now staring up at him. “Sound good?”

Sherlock's lips curled up in a happy grin. The prospect of following _that_ with a case was enough to bring him out of the drowsy daze their activities had left him in. He leaned up on his elbow and looked down at John, his gaze taking in every inch of John's body, savoring the sight. He wanted to remember this for a long time.

He replied after a long moment, "Perfect."


End file.
